The Plight of the Arshion

Summary: A skyship has only hours to reach land after being attacked by pirates. Rhione must save her ship and her son!
A short story set in the Universe of my upcoming fantasy series 'The Storm Below'

The Plight of the Arshion

by J.M.D. Reid

edited by
Poppy Reid

Rhione
was awakened by the Bosun's shrill whistle screaming through her
skull.

Groaning,
she snapped her eyes open, staring at the hammock swinging above her
head. Her body didn't want to move, but she forced herself to sit up
in her own hammock, brushing strands of her white-blonde hair from
her brown face. “Theisseg's scrawny feathers,” she muttered,
cursing the Storm Goddess for interrupting her sleep. She had been up
past the midnight watch patching the starboard hold of the Arshion. A
small skyreef had struck the whaler near sunset. Thugri Sound was
rife with the obstacles and the lookout should have been paying more
attention. They were lucky that it had only been a small reef that
had collided with the ship, a small boulder instead of a massive
rock. It didn't damage any of the ship's frames—the ribs of the
ship that ran along the hull from port to starboard—and only
cracked a few of the hull's planks.

Rhione
rolled out of her hammock, trying to blink the weight of sleep from
her eyes, the deck cold on her bare feet. She forced herself to stand
up, joining the rest of the night watch as they struggled out of
their hammocks, men and women cursing and grousing.

“What
minnow's crawled up the Cap'n's skirt?” muttered Dhith, his portly
face flushed red, as he stepped out of the quartermaster's stores.

“Don't
know, dear, I was sleeping,” Rhione muttered to her husband. She
just wanted to lean against Dhith's solid frame, close her eyes, and
drift off into...she shook her head, trying to make her mind work.

“Pirates,”
muttered Three-Finger Tharsh, the oldest sailor on the Arshion, his
face as wrinkled as a year-old prune. “It's gonna be pirates.”

The
grime of sleep fell off Rhione as her heart thudded to life. Agerzak
Pirates. They haunted the Thugri Sound, riding on their strange
beasts across the skies. After two years of plying the Great Empty
hunting for whales, the Arshion was heading home to Shuutan and
passing through the most dangerous part of their voyage—the stretch
through Thugri Sound. The Sound was the border between the Autonomy
of Les-Vion to the south—Rhione and the rest of the crew's
nation—and the Agerzak Kingdom of Estapf to the north. Every year,
Agerzak pirates took a few whalers out of the hundreds that plied the
Sound, forcing their crews to fly the captured ships to the nearest
Agerzak port.

Lucky
crews were ransomed. Most weren't. The pirates just wanted the whale
oil.

She
formed the sun with her thumb and pinkie. “Riasruo defend us,”
she muttered as she climbed up the steep steps out of the hold and
onto the well deck, the Goddess's feathery rays falling on her slim
shoulders.

She
actually felt relieved. The Agerzak pirates never had ships. At
least they didn't two years ago. A lot could've changed.

Sailors
scrambled through the rigging, unfurling the sails to full. A great
gust whipped down the ship as the Windwarden increased the breeze,
propelling the Arshion faster through the skies. Grioch, the slimy
Windwarden, had been lucky when he'd received his Blessing. Riasruo,
the Sun Goddess, had granted him Major Wind.

There
were four different categories of Blessing—Mist, Wind, Pressure,
and Lightning—that could come in three different strengths—Minor,
Moderate, or Major. Every worshiper of Riasruo was granted a
combination of Blessings at seventeen. Rhione was blessed with
Moderate Mist, allowing her to see through thick clouds and
precipitate moisture from the air, and Minor Lightning, granting her
immunity to electricity. Thanks to Grioch's Blessing of Major Wind,
Grioch could power the Arshion's engine, allowing her to fly, and
could generate the breezes to propel her across the skies.

“Don't
just stand there!” the Bosun bellowed at her. Rhione glowered at
the squat-faced man—she was the ship's chief carpenter and equal to
the Bosun and the Quartermaster. Only the First Mate and the Captain
stood higher than her. “I don't care that you ain't under my
command. You get your backside to the gunwale and prepare to defend
the ship!”

“Aye,”
she muttered, shrinking from his boarish rage. Her hands shook as she
clutched the crossbow—she had never used one before.

The
Bosun thrust one into her husband's hands. Dhith's jowls paled. This
can't be how it ends. We didn't just spend two years plying the Great
Empty for it to end just a week out from home.

“Ma!”

Rhione's
son raced up, his skinny face thick with fear. Chev was the cabin boy
on the Arshion, learning his parent's trade. It was his first voyage
and he had grown so much, sprouting into gangly youth, his brown face
sporting a few, red pimples. He'd soon have a man's height and build.
Rhione's spine stiffened; she couldn't afford to be afraid.

“Get
below deck!” she shouted. “Ain't no place for you up here.”

“But
it's my job to run out the crossbow bolts. I gots to do my job.”
Fear and pride warred inside her. Chev was such a hard worker, eager
to become a full member of the crew. He already knew all the various
knots, hitches, bends, splices, loops, and bindings to manage the
complicated rigging of the Arshion. Once he had his strength, he'd
make a fine sailor.

“You
mind your ma,” Dhith snapped.

“Sorry,
pa!” he yelled, running down below deck. “I need to fetch another
barrel of bolts.”

“To
the gunwale!” the Bosun bellowed at Rhione, cracking his scarred
knuckles.

She
knew the Bosun wouldn't spare hitting her just because of her sex, so
she joined her husband at the gunwale, the railing that lined the
Arshion's three decks. She kept throwing quick glances over her
shoulders, keeping an eye on her son as he lugged a heavy barrel out
of the hold, stony points of crossbow bolts sticking out of the top.
He set it on the deck, ready to run resupplies to the ship's
defenders.

That's
me and Dhith.

Rhione
leaned her crossbow on the gunwale, her hands shaking as she stared
out at the open, blue sky above Theisseg's Storm, struggling to still
the tremble in her hands. I'm forgetting somethin'. She looked
at the wooden crossbow, a string made of carp guts connected the
weapon's arms. I need to load it. Get it together. Don't be no
downyheaded fool. She cranked back the windlass, the bone
mechanism clicking and clacking before settling a bolt on the cradle
and aimed out at the sky.

“Here
they come!” roared the Captain from the poop deck, her voice
shrill. “Five Agerzak raiders riding across the sky. Hear that!
There's only five! We can beat them back. We have more numbers. So
just feather them with your bolts and we'll get through this. Just
remember the wealth in the tanks! You'll all be rich when we get the
oil back.”

“How
can the Captain care about the whale oil?” Rhione muttered, trying
not to think about five Agerzak raiders bearing down on them.

“It's
all the woman cares about,” snorted Dhith. “She's probably happy
we're bein' attacked. The more of us them pirates kill before we beat
them back, the bigger her share.”

“Get
ready!” Captain Rhey's voice was even more shrill, her panic
infecting Rhione's heart. “They're coming up on the port side.”

“Great.
Why did we choose this side?” Dhith asked.

“Theisseg's
scrawny feathers are raining on us today, dear.”

Her
husband reached out and touched her arm, his thick fingers giving her
a reassuring squeeze. They had shared their fires for over fifteen
years, and while it wasn't always the most steady burning flame,
their marriage had been more good than bad.

“It'll
be fine,” he smiled.

The
Agerzaks burst around the side of the ship, galloping across the
skies. They were all barbaric, hulking men, barely dressed, their
pale chests muscled and covered in blue paint. Their beards and hair
were all thick and black, flowing behind them as they rode their
strange, wingless pegasi across the skies. Every time the beasts
hooves struck the empty air, fire burst as if they were running upon
a sheet of flames across the skies.

She
aimed her crossbow at the first rider. This pirate clutched a bow,
not holding on to his reins as he drew back an arrow. She fired. Her
bolt missed him by more than a few ropes, falling uselessly behind
him down into the Storm.

“Storm-cursed
thing,” she muttered, grabbing the crank.

The
pirate released his bow. Agony flared on her temple. Darkness crashed
down on Rhione.

Pain
was the first thing that Rhione felt, a throbbing ache right behind
her eyes. Her stomach roiled and bile crept up her throat. Her eyes
fluttered open, sunlight stabbing into her mind. She heaved her
stomach onto the deck of the Arshion.

Her
son's voice was so quiet, a whisper from leagues off even though he
knelt right next to her.

“Who's
dead?” she asked, her hand going to her temple. Pain flared. Blood
stained her hand.

“Pa.”

“That
can't be. He was right next to me. Dhith. Where are you?”

Her son
hugged her, clinging to her. “Pa's dead. They killed him.”

His
tears were hot on her neck. Her husband's body lay crumpled on the
deck, missing his head.

Horror
seized her mind as she gazed across the well deck of the Arshion. Her
husband wasn't the only corpse. The white-yellow well deck of the
Arshion was painted red by the Agerzak greatswords. Her stomach
rebelled again.

“What's
going on?” she asked, struggling to remember. Everything was so
fuzzy. Her head throbbed so badly.

“We
lost, ma. The pirates boarded us. They took all the oil onto their
ships and...” Her son started, looking up.

“You're
alive,” the Bosun grunted, looming over her and her son. “Cap'n
wants to see all the officers now. We got plans to make.”

“Not
now,” Rhione muttered, clutching her son. She wanted to cry, but
her head pounded.

Grioch.
The name penetrated the fuzz paining her skull. “Our Windwarden?”

He
nodded, hauling her to her feet.

“But,
how are we...?” She shivered in dread, glancing at Chev—her
fingers made the sun. “Riasruo defend us.”

“We
got about a day to find a skyland before the engine's charge dies
and...”

We
fall into the Storm Below.

“We're
at the mercy of Theisseg and her capricious winds,” he continued as
they walked across the deck, passing the stunned crew. Many sported
bandages, staring with dead eyes at the deck. Men and women broken by
the pirates. In the distance, a pair of ships with black hulls and
blue sails dwindled as they sailed away. They looked like a
Vaarckthian corvette, but no Imperial warship would be painted in
those colors.

If
we had put in at Onhur we would've known the pirates got ships now.
Damn, greedy Captain. Would a day in port really have ruined the
trip?

Captain
Rhey waited in her cabin, a map of the Thugri Sound unfurled before
her, a compass lying on the parchment along with her other navigation
tools. A dotted line drawn with a grease pencil led from the
Arshion's position southwest towards the Skyland of Eche. Behind the
Captain, the ship's lanky scout lounged against a bulkhead, a frown
creasing his weathered cheeks.

“Cap'n,”
the bosun said. “Me and Rhione are all the officers I could find.
Brele's dead along with the Quartermaster.”

“It's
all for naught.” A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Rhione's lips.
“The pirates took it all, didn't they? Two years of Storm-damned
work gone.”

“Yes.
And worse, the wind isn't bowing us south towards Tlele or Tlovis,
but southwest towards Eche. That's over a day's sailing.”

“So
we're dead,” muttered Xoar Whalesight. The scout straightened up,
running his fingers through his blond hair. “You still got that
bottle of whiskey in here, Cap'n? Think I want to get drunk.”

“That
ain't gonna help!” snapped the Captain, her shoulders swelling, her
red eyes darting about as her bony fingers squeezed her arms. “We
ain't dead yet. We gots to keep focused. There gots to be a way to
squeeze some speed out of the Arshion.” The Captain seized Rhione's
hands in a cold, clammy grip. “Right? You know the ship best.”

“We
need to lighten the ship,” Rhione whispered.

The
Captain's hands squeezed hard. “Right! Right!” She seized on
Rhione's words, clinging to them. “Lighten the ship. We run at full
sails and lighten the ship. The mast'll hold, right. Running at full
sail won't cause any problem.”

“Unless
we hit a squall,” Rhione nodded. “She'll hold. Probably. I
checked out both masts two days past. They're both still solid and
well anchored to the keel.”

“Good,
good! I need you and your carpenters to disassemble every bit of the
ship we don't need. We're going to dump everything over the side.”

“Doesn't
matter, we're dead,” laughed Xoar again, opening up a cabinet. He
found the bottle and ripped the cork off with his teeth. “Too far
for me to fly Lucky to a skyland. We're so dead.” Lucky Chemy was
the ships only pegasus and Xoar was the only one with the right
Blessing to fly her.

The
Bosun stalked over, seized the bottle from Xoar's hand, then walked
over to one of the porthole windows and threw out the bottle.
“Everything needs to go. Food. Water barrels. Personal belongings.
They'll all have to go, Cap'n.”

The
Captain nodded at the Bosun. “Even the dead.”

“But!”
Rhione gasped. “If we don't burn them, how can we send them to
Riasruo?” How can I send Dhith...?
She shook, a ragged sob ripping out of her throat.

“Dhith
wouldn't want you or Chev to die just so he could be properly
burned,” whispered the Bosun, putting a strong hand on her
shoulder. “You got to be strong for your boy.”

She sniffed, pulling away from the Bosun and pushed her
grief down for Dhith. Later. When Chev's safe.

“Okay, I'll get to work on tearing the holds apart.”
She took another breath, thinking about the problem. There was a lot
of lumber on the ship that could be dismantled, and that didn't even
count the spare supplies for repairs: barrels of tar, bone nails,
ceramic fittings, spare sail, and hemp rope. There was a lot of
weight that could be tossed. Hope dawned inside her. “We need to
get started right away. I'll get this ship sailing as fast as a
Sowerese rake.”

“What about my pegasus?” Xoar asked.

“We'll keep her,” the Captain decided. “Just in
case. Maybe you and another can fly off the ship. Just in case.”

“I'll go saddle her,” Xoar muttered. “And maybe
pinch a ration of grog before you toss it over the side.”

Rhione couldn't watch as the bodies were tossed over the
side, so she quickly led her three carpenter mates and ten other
sailors down into the holds, Chev at her side. She could only hope
Dhith and the others were somehow able to ascend to Riasruo's fiery
sun and be bathed in her warm light forever.

The Arshion had two holds; the crew slept in the middle
of the lowest deck on hammocks slung between beams. The ship's stores
of dried food and other goods were kept in the fore of the lower deck
while the quartermaster supplies were kept in the aft, where all the
spare lumber, tar, and other supplies were stored. Beyond the
quartermaster supplies was the engine room where the ship's heart
pulsed. The upper hold was taken up by the storage tanks for the
whale oil, the rendering ovens, the galley, and the menagerie, which
was right under the Captain's cabin in the aft of the ship. Lucky
Chemy was stabled in there. The stern of the ship could unfold,
opening onto the skies to let Xoar fly his pegasus in and out of the
ship.

“Hurhen and Seyele, clear out the food stocks, then
disassemble the decking. Sruthech and Arthen, start with the
quartermaster supplies. Pitch it all over except a tool barrel. Then
start ripping up the decking in there and the engine room. The rest
of us, we're going to work on the crew's belongings. Grab every
trunk, sack, hammock, and bundle of clothing. All of it is to be
pitched over the side. Then we'll rip up the decking towards the
stairs and move on to the upper hold.”

A fair wind blew as none of them objected. There wasn't
time to spend energy on fighting or bickering. She could see it in
their eyes, that burning spark of hope was fueling them. They would
work hard and fast, without the usual complaining and lollygagging
she normally would expect out of the crew.

Chev was the first to grab a chest, holding it in his
arms, carrying the wooden trunk up the stairs, straining to carry the
heavy weight. The hammocks were unstrung as Rhione seized another
chest, carrying it up the stairs after her son.

He was out of her sight for a moment; her heart beat
faster.

“Come on, you mottled ostriches!” bellowed the Bosun
as she climbed up on deck. “Pitch it over. Clear the storming deck
of everything.”

Chev walked to the gunwale and pitched his chest over
the side. She followed, hurtling the box she held down to the
churning Storm below. She watched it dwindle then vanish into the
dark-gray clouds, joining her husband in Theisseg's tempestuous
domain. Dhith deserved better than to spend his days at the Storm
Goddess's dark mercies.

“Come on, ma,” Chev said, tugging at her linen shirt
sleeve.

“Right.” She didn't have time to grieve. The dead
could wait until tomorrow.

The entire crew of the Arshion worked with purpose,
tearing down the vast holding tanks that rose up through the well
deck from the upper hold, the planks still greasy with traces of
whale oil. Even Xoar pitched in, dragging out the frame of the
captain's bed and tossed it over the side. The Captain herself manned
the wheel, her eye on the compass, keeping them pointed towards
safety.

Sweat covered Rhione's lean body. Her muscles ached. She
ignored it. They couldn't stop working. More sailors came down after
the topside had been cleared, crowding the holds, dragging up sacks
of grain, barrels of grog, ceramic pots and pans, and the entire
galley stove. Soon the decking was coming up, leaving the bones of
the ship exposed. Then the wall compartmenting the engine came down,
the Amethyst pulsing like a beating heart, shining pale-purple
through the ship's naked frames and supports.

The pulses grew slower as evening approached.

“Let's keep moving!” bellowed the Bosun. “Still
plenty of the ship to dump. Keep at it. If I see any of you minnows
taking a breather, I'll pitch you over. I'm lookin' at you, Arthen!
You want to be dead weight?”

“No, Bosun,” Arthen said, the sailor's back snapping
rigid. The Bosun stalked off and Arthen muttered out of the corner of
his lips, “Storming shark.”

Rhione didn't say a word, just tossed the pile of lumber
in her hands over the side.

Was
the Storm going by faster?

It was hard to tell as the sun sank, painting the dark
gray cloud below with orange highlights. But it seemed like the
writhing Storm was passing by faster than usual. She leaned on the
gunwale, looking out to the southwest, trying to see if Eche was on
the horizon. There was something dark, partly hidden by the setting
sun.

She smiled, straightening and holding her hand before
the sun to get a better look at the skyland floating in the sky.

It wasn't Eche.

“Skyreef!” she shouted.

No one was on watch. Every member of the crew was needed
to lighten the ship. A floating patch of rocks hung in the air before
them, coming up fast as the Arshion knifed through the sky. Thugri
Sound was plagued with the floating collections of rocks, some the
size of a pig, others as big as the Arshion. They were the reason no
ship ran the strait as fast as they were.

The skyreef stretched across the sky, dark splotches
coming up fast. If they had a Windwarden, the ship could change
altitude, ascending or descending to clear the obstacle, or the
Windwarden could turn the ship faster with a cross wind, detouring
the ship safely around the reef.

“Skyreef!” she shouted again, racing for the port
stairs up to the poop deck .

Ropes creaked, pulleys working as the Captain strained
to turn the wheel to port. Rhione reached the top of the deck. She
seized one of the pegs-like handles protruding around the outside
edge of the wheel, helping the Captain turn the helm. Ropes rasped in
pulleys and wood creaked as the mast spars turned. But the strong
wind fought them, the wheel bucking in their hands.

“Theisseg-damn those pirates,” the Captain hissed,
sweat beading her wrinkled brow. “How am I supposed to turn this
ship without a Windwarden?”

“There's a gap in it,” Rhione shouted. “See it?”

“Yes, I see the storming gap!” snapped the Captain.
“Why do you think I'm turning the ship to port? But turning the
wheel ain't gonna be enough. Not with how fast we're goin'.” She
looked down at the deck. “Do you see the channel, Bosun?”

“Aye,” he muttered before blowing on his whistle,
signaling the crew to their stations.

Shouts of alarm rang out from the crew as they flooded
out from below decks, swarming over to the two masts. Barefoot
sailors began climbing up into the rigging with ease.

“Change the rigging!” the Bosun bellowed. “Quarter
for a port turn! Now! We need to turn six more points to make that
channel!”

“Ma!” Chev looked up at her from the well deck.

“Hold on to something!” Rhione shouted.

The skyreef hurtled closer, the boulders growing larger,
filling the sky before them. There was a gap between two large
boulders that the Arshion's bow was slowly turning to point towards.
But she wasn't a graceful ship, built wide and thick to hold as much
whale oil as possible. Even with a Windwarden, she wallowed through
the skies.

A grinding sound split the air; two of the boulders
collided, scraping past each other. Smaller specks of rocks
splintered off, hurtling out from the reef, sending a school of
reddish fish scurrying away in a panic.

“Please turn,” Rhione prayed, straining with the
Captain to move the wheel even a little bit. She jerked; the wheel
slipped another few fingerwidths to port, the pulleys grinding. She
strained to keep a tight grip as the wheel throbbed.

“Brace!” the Bosun shouted.

The bow turned another few points as the first boulders
began hurtling past. The Arshion was going far faster than any ship
Rhione had ever sailed on. She looked ahead; the ship was almost
pointed at the channel.

“We're going to miss,” the Captain whispered, her
voice high and tight. “I think we're going to miss. I can't lose my
ship. We're not going to hit, right, Rhione?”

The massive boulder on the starboard side slowly spun,
the rock pitted and cragged by weather, full of jagged spires. The
rigging and spars of the foremast was coming up fast to the side.
Rhione seized her breath, holding on to the wheel.

The boulder missed the foremast. The mainmast's spar was
coming up next. Rhione closed her eyes—it was wider than the fore.
She sucked in her breath, her fingers tight on the wheel's handle.

The boat rocked. A loud, splintering crack resounded.
Rhione was thrown forward, her hand slipping from the wheel. She
gasped as the railing of the poop deck slammed into her stomach, the
air forced out of her lungs. The ship shuddered, wood snapping and
grinding, and then they were past the massive boulder.

“That wasn't the mast!” the captain yelled. “It
must have hit the hull.”

Rhione stared out the length of the starboard side hull,
a massive, jagged hole torn into the ship, leaving splintered planks
behind. The ship creaked and groaned as half the hull's strength on
the starboard side was gone. She looked down, the ship's frames
groaning and bowing, struggling to keep the vessel from ripping to
pieces.

The Arshion was dead.

“This is bad, ma,” Chev whispered.

The mainmast flexed before her. The mast was anchored at
the keel at the bottom of the boat between two of the ship's frames.
And those two frames had been badly damaged in the collision. The
stress placed upon the mast was transferred into those frames and
spread out into the hull of the Arshion. That whole system had been
disrupted by the impact. It was only a matter of time before the mast
ripped free of its anchor.

When it ripped free, it would break the keel, the very
backbone of the ship. There were too many damaged frames to keep the
ship in one piece if that happened. The Arshion was doomed if the
main sails weren't reefed. The stress had to be eliminated.

“Get above deck right now!” she barked. “Tell the
Captain and the Bosun to get down here!”

“Yeah, ma!”

“And don't come back down!”

The wood creaked again, the mast tearing at the frames
and keel.

“What's the problem?” Captain Rhey asked, picking
her away across the torn up decking of the upper hold, stepping from
truss to truss.

“The mainmast is gonna rip free,” Rhione said.
“Between the reef's gouge and how much of the ship we've
disassembled, there ain't enough strength to hold it together.”

“Patch it, then!”

Rhione looked at the captain, then at the massive hole
in the ship's side. “I can't. Look at that! Riasruo bless us,
that's a good sixth of the hull gone. The Arshion's like to rip
herself to pieces if we don't furl the mainsail.”

“Patch it!” hissed the captain. “Add more support!
Do whatever it takes!”

“I can't! We need to reef the sail right this moment.”

“You're gonna get us killed!” snarled the Bosun. “We
need to keep runnin' with full sails or we're not reaching Eche!”

“Can't you hear the creaking? Look at the keel. It's
buckling! When that mainmast goes, it's gonna rip the ship in half!
Then we're all gonna be plummetin' down into the Storm Below!”

The Captain seized her shoulders. “There has to be a
way.” Fingernails dug into her flesh. “You have to do something.
We can't die! No, no, no. We can't die. I can't die. My ship can't
die. We have supplies. So fix it!”

“It won't! She'll fix it! I'm not losing my ship!”
Spittle fell in Rhione's face as the Captain screeched at her. “See
that she repairs it now, Bosun. If she don't, throw her off the
ship.”

The Bosun looked up. “She's right, Cap'n. Riasruo
shine down on us, but she's right. I've seen a mast uproot before.
It's bad when a ship doesn't have her guts ripped open. I agree with
our carpenter, we need to furl the sails.”

“Nonsense! The Arshion is a sturdy ship. Rhione's just
wanting to shirk on her duties! Everyone on this Riasruo-blessed ship
wants to shirk!”

“I'm gonna tell them to furl the sails to half,”
muttered the Bosun. “Maybe it'll be fine and we'll still make it to
Eche.”

“Where do you think you're going?” screeched the
Captain.

“To save the ship, Cap'n,” he answered as he climbed
up the stairs. “Someone gots to.”

The Captain followed after. “Hurhen, Seyele, seize the
Bosun!” she screamed above deck.

“What, Cap'n?” a confused sailor answered.

Rhione gained the deck. Chev's lanky body trembled as he
stared at the snarling Captain. The crew was gathered around the
Captain and the Bosun. Rhione seized her son, pulling him behind her,
trying not to shake. Beyond the crew, the mainmast flexed and torqued
as the wind howled past.

“It's not going to be long,” she whispered. She had
never seen a mast sway so much. The crow's nest was moving at least
three ropes back and forth.

“I gave you an order!” the Captain howled. “Seize
the Bosun and throw him overboard. We don't need his dead weight.”

“He wants to furl the sails!” She pointed a bony
finger at him. “If we do that, we ain't gonna make it to Eche! He's
mutinying! And that's death! So throw him over!”

The crew erupted into angry shouts. Hurhen seized the
Bosun's thick arm. The big man's fist curled and he smashed it into
Hurhen's face; the sailor crumpled to the deck with a ruined nose.
“Listen!” the Bosun bellowed over the crew's roar, pushing
another sailor off him. “The mast is gonna buckle. We gots to trim
the sails to half or the ship's gonna rip apart! Now get movin' and
trim them or I'll crack every last one of your down-filled skulls
open.”

“We'll die if we don't run at full sails!” cackled
Three-Finger Thrash. “The engine ain't gonna last 'til dawn! You
want to see us dragged down into Theisseg's storm!”

“The Bosun wouldn't get us killed!” snarled Seyele,
pushing the old sailor back. “Look at the Cap'n. She's lost it! I
say we throw her overboard!”

“Mutineer!” snarled the Captain. “Another
Theisseg-damned traitor. You and the Bosun both. You're trying to see
me dead!”

The crew's shouts grew louder, screaming at each other,
fear thick in the air. Chev clung to Rhione's side, his body
trembling. She had to do something. They were all dead if the crew
wouldn't see reason.

“He's right!” Rhione found herself shouting, trying
to make her voice heard over the roaring crew. “The hull's badly
damaged. The ships gonna rip herself apart. We have to reef the
sails! Believe me! I know the ship!”

No one heard her.

“Throw the mutineers overboard!” shrilled the
Captain. “Less weight to slow us down!”

The Bosun's fist crashed into another sailor that tried
to stop him from reaching the mast. The Bosun strode forward, pushing
through the men. “I'll storming do it myself!”

Three-Finger Thrash's bone dagger sank into the Bosun's
lower back. The big man roared, turning about. His fist crashed into
the old sailor, knocking rotten teeth out as Thrash crumpled to the
deck. The Bosun reached behind him, and ripped out the bloody,
hogbone dagger.

“Downyheaded, sow-dung fool,” he muttered, the
dagger falling from his fingers. He tried to turn to walk to the
mast, but instead he collapsed like a felled tree, crashing to the
deck.

“Ma!” sobbed her son.

The crew stared at the dying Bosun as the Captain
snarled and cackled, “Back to work. Clear the deck! We keep
sailing! We're gonna live.”

“Stupid sow!” Seyele shouted and grabbed the
Captain's bony shoulder.

More bone blades flashed. More blood spilled on the
Arshion's deck.

A great, shuddering crack snapped through the air
ignored by the screaming mob. That sounded like a frame snapping.
It won't be long now.

She had to act to save what she could. Rhione pushed her
son towards the stairs to the hold. The Arshion was doomed. “Come
with me,” she whispered, seizing her son's hand and pulled him
below deck.

“Ma?” he asked. “What's happening?”

She didn't answer him. Her hand held his in a death
grip, yanking him behind her.

“Please, ma?” He fought her, trying to pull away.

She whirled around, seizing his shoulders. “You're
gonna fly off on Lucky Chemy.”

“But, what about the others?”

They're
dead. “They'll be fine once
they've calmed down. But we need to lose more weight, so the pegasus
gots to go. You'll fly her to Eche.”

She pushed her son through the door to the small
menagerie. The pegasus greeted them with a nervous whinny, stamping
her piebald forelock and rustling her gray-feathered wings. She was a
Chuthi, a breed that could cover long distances, but she was small
and couldn't bear much weight without the right Blessing; Rhione only
had Mist. Pressure was needed to increase the lift the beast
generated with her wings, allowing the pegasus to fly through the
skies with more weight.

Xoar was the only crew that had Moderate Pressure. But
Chev was small and light. The pegasus should be able to bear him.
Rhione had to believe that.

She spun about. Xoar stood in the doorway, his long,
curved bone knife in hand, his eyes hard, green stones. The boat
shuddered and groaned as Rhione moved between Xoar and her son,
eyeing his dagger.

“Will you fly my son to safety?” she asked him,
pleading with his eyes.

He shook his head. “Too far. Even with my Pressure, I
can't afford the extra weight. Sorry.”

Anger flared inside her. “Open the rear of the ship,
Chev.”

“Ma?” His voice quavered.

Rhione pushed her son back towards the pegasus. “Just
do it! Then you fly her southwest. Lucky'll help you out. She'll know
how to find a skyland.”

“You touch my pegasus and I'll gut you like—”

With a screech, she leapt at Xoar, seizing his knife
hand. She had been a sailor for too long not to know how to brawl.
Xoar crashed into the door, grunting in surprise, his hand straining
to press the knife towards her belly.

“Mount up, Chev!” she screamed as she struggled
against the man. Her heart thudded, fear pumping through her veins.
Chev was the only part of Dhith left.

“Sow's dung!” hissed Xoar, seizing her blonde hair
with his free hand and jerking her head back; pain burned across her
scalp. “I ain't dying on this worthless boat!”

“Ma!”

“You do what you're told, Chev! Or I'll whoop you so
hard! Now go! Fly!”

Air whistled as the back of the ship opened up, the wall
lowering down by a pair of hemp cables.

Rhione screamed, hooking her foot around his ankle. They
fell into a heap on the rush covered floor. Sour dung filled her nose
as they rolled and cursed. The pegasus whinnied, her hoofs pounding
on the deck.

“I can't leave you, ma!”

“You gots to.” The dagger moved closer to Rhione's
stomach, her sweaty hands slipping on Xoar's wrist. “You will mind
me! So fly away right now!”

The dagger sank into her stomach.

Cold pain knifed through her. Her hands lost their
strength. Xoar rose up, ripping the dagger from her guts, his face
twisted into something monstrous. He was going to kill her son. She
forced her arms to move, pushing down the lethargy sinking through
her, weighing down every bit of her body.

“Let go of my pegasus or I'll give you the same, boy!”

“No!” she shouted, forcing the air out, and lunged
her hands for Xoar's ankle, ignoring the pain roaring in her side,
and jerked him back. “You got to go, Chev. I love you! Now go!”

Her son scrambled onto the back of the pegasus, staring
back at her. His red eyes—like his pa's—were wet with pain. She
saw so much of Dhith in his face: his bulbous nose, the cleft chin,
his brown hair. But not her son's ears—those were her own small
lobes.

“Please, go!”

“Sow's spawn!” Xoar's foot crashed into her face.
She held on.

“Go!” she sobbed, her mouth full of blood, her lips
split and crack. “Please!”

Xoar kicked her again. She would not relent. She would
save her son. Xoar, cursing, stabbed the knife down into her left
arm, cutting sinew. She didn't feel the pain as her left arm fell
useless from his leg—she only held on even harder with her right
hand.

“Don't you hurt her!” Chev shouted, his voice
warbling.

She wasn't going to be able to stop Xoar much longer.
She stared at her son, pleading with her eyes for him to abandon her.
He listened, and began frantically strapping himself into the saddle,
cinching the leather straps tight about his legs.

Xoar stepped forward, dragging her body. Darkness danced
in her eyes as she struggled to hold on, fighting against blissful
lethargy.

“Goodbye, ma!” Chev heeled the pegasus.

Lucky Chemy neighed and galloped forward, falling out of
the back of the ship, her gray wings spreading wide. The pegasus and
her son dropped out of sight, falling down towards the Storm Below.
For a moment, fear gripped her heart, but then the pegasus rose up,
banking in the wind. She had one last look at her son on the beast's
back and she held onto the memory—brown hair rustling, his gangly
legs strapped tight to the saddle, his hands clutching the saddle's
pommel. Then he was gone, winging around the ship.

The knife dropped from Xoar's hand, the blade snapping
on the deck, then he fell to his knees. She let him go, rolling on to
her back. The ship shuddered and groaned beneath her, wood cracking
as the keel snapped, the force vibrating through the entire ship.

The crew screamed as the mast crashed down.

She didn't care anymore. Her body was too cold to care
about much of anything.

“You killed me,” Xoar whispered.

“I saved him,” she answered.

Xoar looked at her, his green eyes lost, and then he
laughed, “Why did the Bosun have to throw out the whiskey? Riasruo
Above, but I could use a drink.”

“Yeah,” Rhione croaked. It was getting harder to
talk, to think.

The last frames keeping the ship together failed with a
mighty, tearing snap. Her body slid along the blood-soaked deck, then
everything became strangely weightless. Rhione lifted up from the
deck and rotated about in a slow spiral, bits of straw tumbling with
her. Out the back of the ship, the dark sky whirled past, stars
flashing, then the darkness of the Storm Below filled the opening.

Bookworm00:
This was a great story! I didn't like how the author has Derek give his point of view and then repeats everything all over again in Gwen's point of view. Overall, I do like the characters and the plot.

3fxs749:
This is a very well written and thought out book about a dystopian future filled with computer-made genetically engineered dinosaurs who roam the land while the last remnants of humanity struggle to survive. One man’s half-successful experiment could tip the balance of this world to the favor of ...

Deleted User:
I can easily identify with the characters as having gone through those terrible times myself. The writer has skillfully brought yet another side of those days to life. A good read which I recommend to everyone.

William Elliott Kern:
Interesting Story, with Jacob, the second Son of Baron Ironwood to learn his duties, provide his numbers and prepare for marriage to Anna......Along the way, the wise Monk, Francis came to Ironwood, filled the ears of Jacob with hope and positive direction, a gift for Jacob well needed. The Stor...

NancyRichFoster:
This second book of the Anmah Series was as awesome as the first story, I disagree with spare runner. The names were ordinary names with different spellings, which I for one loved. I am now going to read the third book in this amazingly awesome story!

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